Little Bird
by bipping
Summary: Oneshot inspired by the Ed Sheeran song of the same name. America finds and injured bird whilst playing in the garden, and is determined to nurse it back to health.


**Author's Note: **

Okay, so my first two fanfic's were oneshot's, written for people who are very dear to me. I am now failing at writing a onshot at someone else who is very dear to me, but it's kind of failing. I'm considering giving up on it. She asked fo USUK, and I'm trying, I really am, but it's just not working out as well as I'd hoped. But I love her to much to allow her to go empty handed, so below is something that's kind of USUK, but kind of not, seeing as it's not really romantic or anything.

The story is kind of based on the Ed Sheeran song "Little Bird," which can be found on the Deluxe Edition of his album "+", and has to be one of my favourites. Look into it if you ever want a beautiful song. Anyways, the story isn't exactly based on it; I'd say it was inspired by it, because I really only focus on the first couple of lines, and then the like, middle 8 or whatever. I completely ignore the whole romantic side of the song, because of the format of the story.

I just checked, and I'm still me. This means I do not own Hetalia. I also don't own the song "Little Bird."

Any spelling or grammar mistakes are entirely my own, and I apologise in advance for them. And, like my most recent upload before this one, this feels like it's mainly dialouge, which sucks. I really need to get better at descriptions. And it would probably help to start writing stuff with a plot too.

Oh, and England calls America "Alfred" a lot during this because I imagine that he would've called his colony by that name, and in return, occasionally his colony would have called him "Arthur."

Yeah, so, enjoy!

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><p>"England! Englaandd!" America's voice was both proud and frantic with worry. He ran towards his 'brother' with his hands clasped around something, arms slightly extended. "Look what I found!"<p>

England looked down at his small-but-ever-growing colony, taking in mainly his muddy knees and dirt-stained shirt. He noticed that the lad had somehow managed to cut his arm, and get most of the blood in his golden blonde hair. Luckily, he hadn't really damaged any of his attire, and it wasn't beyond repair; England could easily clean both America's filthy face, and his clothes, but it annoyed him slightly that he'd have to find the time to do this. He sighed. He wished the boy wasn't so damn adventurous

He crouched down in order to reach America's eye level. "What Alfred?" he smiled. "What did you find?"

The boy opened his hands. Resting inside the was a small red bed. It's feathers were in disarray, it's left leg slightly twisted. England hoped that the creatures injury was not a direct result of America's attempts to catch it.

"What a delightful little bird," he said. He ruffled America's hair, then started to rise. "Well done for finding it Alfred. However, I suggest you return it to it's natural habitat."

He turned away from America, and continued to prepare dinner. With his back to the younger country, England couldn't see his blue eyes start to well up. The boy began to pout.

"But England, it's got a broken leg. It won't survive out there!"

England turned to face him once more, surprised by the sense of urgency in his voice. A lone tear escaped down his cheek, the promise of many more still lurking behind his eyelids.

"We need to take it in, and nurse it! We have to!"

The island nation noticed his cat flick it's tail. He knew America was right. The bird was weak, and didn't look very old. He imagined it was probably a fledgling that had fallen from it's mothers nest, snapping it's leg. However, he turned away from the colony's adorable pout and answered, "No."

"No?" America was confused.

"No." England continued chopping vegetables for the stew he was planning on cooking them both for supper.

"But Iggy," said America, slightly amazed his pout hadn't melted the British country's heart the way it usually tended to.

"That is the natural order of things Alfred. Things are born, they grow old, they die. Even you and I will die eventually. Nothing is immortal."

America moved the bird closer to him, holding it gently and protectively. "But we can stop it from dying Iggy! We can save it! Please?"

"Alfred, I said no. My decision is final. Now, put the bird back where you found it."

America planted his feet firmly on the ground, determined to fight England's ruling. "But-"

"Alfred," England put down his knife, and turned towards the colony,"put the bird back."

"No."

England's green eyes grew wide, and his rather large eyebrow's rose. "What did you say to me?"

"I said 'no'."

"Alfred, put the bird back."

"No."

"Alfred bloody Jones, do not make me ask again. Put. The bird. Back."

The boy just shook his head.

"Alfred, this is your last chance. Put the bird back where you found it."

Again, the boy shook his head. "I refuse to do that. I won't let him die."

"Right then." England walked towards America, and once again knelt down. "Give me the bird."

"No!

"Alfred, give me the bird!"

"NO! I won't let you hurt Artie!"

Again, the elder country's eyes grew wide. "You...You named it 'Artie'?"

America looked down. "I promised to be his hero Iggy. I told Artie I would help him...told him you would help him. I can't let you hurt little Artie."

England rubbed his eyes. He held his hand out. "Alfred," he said warmly, "would you please hand 'Artie' to me?"

The boy looked up, his expression one of hope. England smiled encouragingly at him. America realised that his 'brother' must have taken a liking to the bird upon the discovery of their shared name. He carefully placed the bird in England's hand. The island nation thanked him, stood up, and slapped the boy sharply across the face with his free hand. America was shocked by the sudden slap, and impressed by how much it had hurt. He wanted to raise a hand to his face, even though he knew it would do nothing to stop the pain, but he found himself slightly scared. He'd been bad before, and England had lost his temper many times, but this was the first time he'd actually hit him. He felt warm tears trickle down his now stinging cheek.

"That is what you get for disobeying me America," said England sternly and coldly. "And furthermore, my name is England, not Iggy, and you will address me as such."

America nodded, biting his lip to avoid saying something he didn't mean. England looked down at the bird in his. He could see that it's leg was beyond repair.

"And now I have to finish the job you failed to complete," he scowled, walking towards the kitchen door.

"Arthur, no!" yelled America fretfully. "You can't!"

The boy ran to him, and threw his arms around his leg, almost in an attempt to clamp him to the ground.

"God damn it America, get off of my leg!"

...America?...Not Alfred?

This hurt the boy far more than his smack. He instantly released England's leg. He felt hollow, numb even. He struggled to understand what he'd done that had been so wrong. He had just wanted to be a hero, to save his little Artie; he saw this as the only appropriate course of action. He had the ability to save Artie, he was obligated to save him.

The elder nation, now free of America's grip, pushed the door open. The cat, who had been licking her lips for the majority off the argument, leapt down from her perch on the windowsill, and followed him out of the room.

America instantly ran to the window. He watched England reach up to the highest branch he could of the old oak tree in the garden, and carefully place Artie there. The cat sat below, eyes unblinking, fixed upon the little bird.

England returned to the house and washed his hands. "America," he started, returning to the carrot he was chopping, "go upstairs and change into some suitable clothes for dinner."

"No."

"America, I'm not in the mood to play games. Go upstairs and change."

"I HATE YOU!" America screamed at him. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ARTIE? HOW COULD YOU LEAVE THAT LITTLE BIRD WITH IT'S BROKEN LEG TO DIE?"

"America, do as I ask." England's done was neutral. It was almost as though America's words had not effect on him at all. However, the boy did as he was asked, and ran upstairs,screaming "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" as he did.

As soon as he was gone, England burst into tears. He decided that that had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. Hitting Alfred had almost felt like being hit himself, and seeing the amount of pain he was causing the colony had cut into his heart.

But hearing Alfred scream, 'I hate you,' had felt like every wound he had ever been suffered through was being inflicted once more. It was as though the boy's words were a sword that had sharply and swiftly sliced his heart into shreds.

America ripped his filthy shirt off and through it onto the floor. He heard the cat hiss, and the flap of feathers. He froze. Deciding he wanted no part in it, he jumped into his bed, hid under the covers, placed his pillow over his head and covered his ears with his hands, so as to avoid hearing little Artie get ripped to shreds.

He continued to weep throughout the entire event.

England heard his cat yowl. He looked up, knowing that what was about to happen was his a direct result of his actions. reminding himself that it was not his place to interfere with the natural course of the universe didn't make him feel any less guilty. And though he didn't want to, completely aware that what was about to take place would sicken him, he watched the entire thing.

He made himself watch as a punishment.

He punished himself because he knew he was 'Artie's' murderer.

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><p><strong>Extended AN: **

_If we take this bird in,_

_With it's broken leg,_

_We can nurse it, she said_

And so begins the song that inspired this story! If you've read any of my other stories, you'll know that this is the first time I've used a stimulus to help me write something, and I hope it worked well. I just love the song so much, and I was listening to it whilst discussing Hetalia once, and this story just popped into my mind. I have to admit, at the time I was kind of annoyed, because neither USUK nor any of the other pairing's I've uploaded stories for are my OTP, but I really loved the concept of this story and had to write it. I plan on ending it here, but was told it doesn't feel finished. I like the ending personally, but I suppose if anyone actually likes the story enough to comment, or cares enough, (which I doubt 'Rachel', I assume you'll be the only one who wants this continued) I have a tiny inkling of another extra little bit to add on to the end.

If you've been following my uploads (which I doubt) and read my stories or whatever, expect something USUK related to be uploaded at some point in the near future. 'Rachel', you better appreciate the hair-pulling effort required to write for you. If I never get arround to writing you anything, then please accept this as your oneshot.

And now, I apologise to everyone for the awfully long a/n, and the boringness of the a/n, and will not waste your time by forcing you to read anymore writing-ness.


End file.
